


The Terrifying Arthur Shappey

by EventHorizon



Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Arthur is a bad bad boy, Cabinlock, Drinking, M/M, peach schnapps, pre-Mystrade, pre-Skipthur - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 10:58:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/pseuds/EventHorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg Lestrade's holiday is on hold due to one of GERTI's temper tantrums and Arthur Shappey is happy to keep him company.  Of course, alcohol makes all things far more interesting...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Terrifying Arthur Shappey

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Let's Write Cabin Pressure November prompt of 'peach schnapps' and Silver Fox Saturday. It's just a hot mess, but sometimes that's not a bad thing...

Well, this wasn’t one of his better ideas.  Lestrade downed his second pint as fast as his first and made himself a promise that he would never, ever, take a holiday again.  It was supposed to be fantastic time.  He was completely worn out from work and life, so a nice week on a lovely island where there was sun, sand and not one dead body with his name on it sounded like a perfect getaway.  Cheap, too.  Very good price and he’d jumped on it when he saw the listing in the newspaper.  Now… new rule to live by.  Cheap is a lie.  You pay for cheap.  You pay a LOT for cheap, though it may not be in money.

The plane he was supposed to take to his majestic Caribbean paradise had mechanical issues and a replacement had to be brought in, which was fine.  Ok.  Not a problem.  Except it was nearly the last ‘fine’ thing on the trip.  There were only a couple of other passengers, which was good, but the cabin steward seemed to have a difficult time handling even those few people.  Nice boy, very nice boy, actually, but just a bit out of his depth.  And the captain was a character, too.  Slightly sour fellow who seemed upset about some nonsense with a van and wasn’t happy about having to be called in to actually fly the plane.  It also didn’t help that periodically through the trip, the announcement system flipped on and everyone got to hear the bloke forget three of the seven wonders of the world and get quivery voiced over not getting any cheese.  And now… now _this_ plane had mechanical issues and here he was, stuck in some airport , but at least there was beer and the telly had English-speaking programming.

      “Oh!  Hello, Mr….”

Lestrade turned around to find the cabin steward of his flight standing behind him, a hopeful smile on his face and the DI decided this day was just going to keep throwing things at him, so he used his foot to push out the chair across from him at the table because he might as well have company while Armageddon geared up to rage.

      “Lestrade, son.  But call me Greg.”

      “Oh!  Yes.  I remember now.  I tried to think of some way to remember that like, say your name is Mr. Bounce, then I can remember it because when you boil an egg for a very long time and drop it, it bounces so I can picture Mr. Bounce as a very-boiled egg so I don’t forget his name, but there’s not really anything like a very-boiled egg that fits for your name.  Which is a shame really, because bouncing boiled eggs is actually a lot of fun and if one breaks, you can always make more!  Brilliant!”

There was just enough beer in his system to make Lestrade grin, but maybe the beer wouldn’t have mattered because there was something so completely happy and open about the boy that it was like a refreshing breeze through quagmire of his day.

      “And now you don’t have to worry about eggs or names at all, so that makes things doubly-brilliant.”

The huge smile that erupted from the steward made Lestrade laugh and he motioned the server over to take the offered seat.

      “First one’s on me.  What can I get you, Arthur, wasn’t it?”

      “Yes!  Arthur Shappey, Steward of the Airplane.  I have a name badge somewhere, but I had to add that last bit myself with a marker and I ran out of room so it all got a bit cramped and hard to read.  Can I have some juice?”

      “You can have what you like, but wouldn’t you like something _in_ your juice?”

      “Like an umbrella?”

Lad just had to mention umbrellas, didn’t he?  Umbrellas might, but only might, mind you,  be one of the reasons Lestrade felt crabby enough to actually take the holiday his team had been begging him to go on for what seemed like half his life.

      “Like vodka.”

      “That doesn’t make your breath smell, you know.  I actually know that, which is brilliant because I love knowing things, especially when they’re useful and what could be more useful than breath that doesn’t smell?”

      “Actually, I’d heard that.  Glad to know it’s true.  So, a nice shot of clean breath in your juice?”

      “Nah, I must admit that I _have_ tried vodka in my juice and… well, it’s a little…”

      “Not quite to your taste.”

      “No, not really.”

      “Ok, then, what _is_ to your taste?  What does Arthur Shappey, Steward of the Airplane, enjoy when he’s at home relaxing?”

      “Lots of things!  Dancing, making crafts, cooking, watching telly…”

      “To drink, Arthur.  What do you enjoy sipping that puts the warmth in your bones?”

      “Oh… well, what I really like I’m not supposed to have because… bad things happen.”

      “Ah.  Tequila?”

      “Peach schnapps.”

      “Are you serious?”

      “Mum’s banned me from drinking it.”

      “Well, since we’re stuck here and probably will be for awhile if I understood things right, I think it’s ok to enjoy yourself a little.  Besides, if things take a bad turn, I’m trained to handle it, so you’ll be fine.”

      “You work for the schnapps company?”

      “No, I’m with the police and we’re used to handling people when bad things are happening.”

      “Brilliant!  Can I see your hat?”

      “I don’t wear a hat, sorry.  That’s one of the things you have to give up when you move to the detective ranks.”

      “A detective!  Like that man in the newspapers with his wee little friend?  _He_ has a hat.”

And another reason Lestrade really, really needed a vacation.  Sherlock Holmes and Wee Little Watson…

      “He’s not with the police, though, so the rules are different.

      “Oh, well, that’s no fun for you because hats are brilliant, but you do get to ride in cars with the lights and sirens, right?”

      “That we do, so it’s not a completely dreary job.  Well then, one peach schnapps and some juice for you and a fresh pint for me.”

Lestrade grinned up at the server in apology for making her wait and was happy that he still had the killer grin of seduction when she smiled in return.

      “Well… alright, but just one…”

__________

Five rounds later…

      “Arthur, what are you writing?”

      “Oh… my murder list.”

      “What?”

      “My murder list!  It’s a list of people I’m going to murder when I get the chance.  I’m not quite sure how, though, because it’s sort of a big list and if I just use something little like a knife, it’ll take a very long time.”

Logic wasn’t Lestrade’s strong point this deep into a drunk, but that sounded reasonable.

      “Well, that’s probably true.  It’s good to be an efficient murderer, too, from my experience.”   

      “Yes… right!  Can I borrow your gun?”

      “Don’t carry one, I’m not American, you know.  They _all_ have guns, those Americans…  going around all day shooting people.  I’m surprised there are any people left in America with all the shooting.  Maybe you should go to the States if you want to murder people since no one will actually care.  And I won’t have to arrest you, since I don’t have any jurisdiction in America.”

      “But all the people I want to murder are in England!  Except Dad, because he’s goes around a lot for his business.  But when he’s in England I can have a go at him, so that’s alright.”

      “Ok… well, here let me see your list and I’ll try and think of something.   Arthur, why am I on your murder list?”

      “Well, you’re _here_ and sort of drunk, so that would be an easy one.”

Arthur was quickly becoming the most rational person in Lestrade’s life.

      “Interesting.  Can’t fault your reasoning.”

      “And I’ve already murdered one person, so I’ve had practice.”

      “Is _this_ the point where I have to arrest you?”

      “I don’t think so.  We were over water at the time and there’s not _that_ much water in Britain.  I’m not sure who had jurisdiction over the ocean because Mum says mermaids and mermen aren’t real, but I’m not really convinced because she couldn’t actually tell me why.”

      “Smart – always demand proof.  So, how’d you do it?”

      “Foam.  I foamed him to death.  Not that the foam actually killed him since he didn’t swallow it or anything, but it did give him a bit of a fright.”

      “Arthur, did he have a heart attack or something?”

      “Actually yes, I do believe he did.”

      “Sorry then, doesn’t count.  You’re still murderless.”

      “No!  Oh, that’s not fair.”

      “Sorry, gotta follow the law on this one.  Best you get is one of those weedy little lesser charges.”

      “Then my list is _very_ important now, because I can’t even say I’ve got one real murder on my record.  And I’ll even put you at the bottom since you’re helping me a lot and I’d hate to murder you and miss getting more of your good advice.”

      “That’s nice of you.  Now who’s this one at the top?  Does that say Slip or Skip?”

      “Skip!  Skipper, Skippity Skip…”

      “And who’s he?”

      “You’ve met him, actually.  He’s GERTI’s captain!”

      “That peevish little ginger bloke that can’t win cheese?”

      “And now you’re going right back to the top of my list because you shouldn’t say mean things about Skip.”

      “But it’s ok to murder him?”

      “Murdering someone isn’t mean.”

      “I think I have to disagree with you on that one.  Oh look, more drinks!  That’s good since I suppose I should drink up a bit so I don’t feel much when you do me in with the weapon-yet-to-be-decided-upon.  Now, can you explain to me why you want your Captain dead, but in a politely-dead way?”

      “I’d rather not.”

      “Notice that wasn’t an option.  If you’re going to have a murder list, you have to have reasons to put people on it.  You had a reason for me, didn’t you?  I’m easy.  Not that that’s the best way of saying it because I am _not_ easy, in the way most people mean it, unless I’m drunk, which I’m getting to very quickly, so maybe I actually _have_ crossed the line into being easy, which isn’t good when I don’t have my wallet supplied with the sort of thing one should have at the ready when one crosses over the ‘I’m easy’ line.”

      “I’m not sure I followed that, which is really rather brilliant because that means it must have been very smart.  Just like Skip… he’s very smart, too.”

      “But you want to murder him.”

      “Well yes, there is that.”

      “Reasons, Arthur…”

      “I might have one, if I am going to be honest.  And I _do_ like being honest, because I think it’s important and I don’t like it when people aren’t honest with me.”

      “Then be honest and let me know what’s got your murdery intentions all aflutter.”

      “Well…”

      “Go ahead.”

      “Skip doesn’t like me.”

      “Bit of a bastard, is he?  Well, there’s always going to be people who don’t like you, lad.  Tons don’t like me.  More than tons, probably, though I’m not sure what the word would be for more than tons.  Mycroft probably does, smart fucker, and he’d tell me, too, with those luscious lips of his and… ok, back to your murder problem.  Just because someone doesn’t like you, that’s not a very good reason for murder.”

      “Not like, Greg.  _Like_.”

      “That’s the same word.”

      “But listen to how I say it… _liiiiiiiiike_.”

      “Oh!  You mean fancy.”

      “Yes.  Skip doesn’t fancy me.”

      “But you fancy him.”

      “Yes, in the sexy way, too.”

      “But he doesn’t want sexy with you.”

      “No… in fact if I even say the s-word, Skip turns a bit green and looks like he’s seen a snake.”

      “One of those, huh?  That’s a shame.”

      “It is!  It really, really is because I really, really want to have sex with Skip.  Lots of sex, too.  In lots of ways.  There _are_ lots of ways to have sex, aren’t there?”

      “Oh yeah, all sorts of ways, some even use props and things.”

      “Brilliant!  I want prop sex with Skip!  Actually, I want _any_ sex with Skip, but he doesn’t want  any sex with me.  Not even a teeny tiny bit, which sex with Skip would actually _be_ since he is teeny tiny and probably has teeny tiny bits, which is just so cute to think about.”

      “Hence his spot on the murder list.”

      “Yep.  Oh and here’s the nice lady again!  I’m going to pay this time, Greg, since you’re so nice and don’t mind talking to me about having sexy sex with Skip.”

Lestrade stared blearily at Arthur ordering their drinks and paying the server, when a little itch started in his brain.

      “Arthur…”

      “Yes?”

      “That’s not your wallet.”

      “Noooo… no, I have to admit it isn’t.”

      “See, I knew that because I saw your wallet when you pulled out the paper to make your murder list and your wallet is bright blue with a polar bear hugging a fish on it.”

      “It really is a nice wallet.”

      “Yes and that nice wallet is not _your_ nice wallet.  In fact… it’s my wallet.”

      “Umm… yes.”

      ‘Arthur Shappey, did you steal my wallet?”

      “I may have done that, yes.”

      “When?”

      “When you reached over to get a napkin to wipe the beer you spilled.”

      “Am I missing anything else I should know about?”

      “Well…”

Arthur reached in his pocket and drew out Lestrade’s warrant card.

      “Lovely.  You know you have to actually look like me to use this right?  And it’s not a free pass to murder people.”

      “No?”

      “No.”

      “Oh.  Then you can have it back.”

      “Arthur?”

      “Yes?”

      “Is that my watch on your wrist?”

      “I cannot lie.  It is.”

      “Can I have it back?”

      “It’s a _very_ nice watch.”

      “That it is and I need it to actually tell time or I won’t know when to go to work.”

      “That’s true.  Alright, I guess you can have it back.”

      “And my wallet?”

      “But there’s money in your wallet.  I don’t have any in mine because Mum said I couldn’t have any expenses money for this trip since I spent it all last time on these very sweet troll dolls.  I bought lots of them so I have a whole room full of trolls to talk to and dance with and watch movies with…”

      “Well, I need my money so I can actually pay for my hotel room if I ever make it on holiday.  So give it back.”

      “Ok… here.  Now, hold on.”

Lestrade watched Arthur shakily get up from his chair, look around the room, then slowly meander around before coming back to their table.

      “There.”

      “There what?”

Arthur drew five wallets out of his jacket pockets and Lestrade had to admit he was impressed.

      “I’m impressed.”

      “Thanks!  Now I have lots of money so I can buy baskets of trolls and schnapps and sex props.”

      “Good to have goals.  And since I can’t actually arrest you, you can buy the next round, too.”

      “You’re nice, Greg.  I’m putting you back down at the bottom of my murder list.  Oh!  And I think I’ve decided to just knock people on the heads with something heavy.  It’s easy to find heavy things, so I don’t have to spend any of my sex prop money on a weapon.”

      “It’s a plan… not the best, though, mind you.  First, if you don’t get them good and dead on the first whack you have to do it again and that’s when it gets messy.  You ever try to clean blood and stuff out of your clothes?  Let me tell you, the money you save on not buying a weapon is going to go to getting your clothes cleaned by a professional.  Not very economical in the long run.”

It actually should bother him, Lestrade thought, that he was helping Arthur plan the murders of a dozen or more people, but… oh look, their drinks were here…

      “Brilliant!  See, that’s why you need to stay at the bottom of my list, because you’ve got lots of good ideas.  Oh, I shouldn’t have said bottom… now I’m thinking of Skip’s little bottom and he even got mad when I told him once that he has a cute little bum, which I think is a bit rude, since it’s a compliment and Skip doesn’t get lots of those, so he should be happy!”

      “Some people just aren’t ready for compliments, Arthur.  Or sexy sex.  Or letting people look at their cute bums or their gorgeous eyes or think about dragging a tongue up and down miles of their creamy skin…”

      “Greg?”

      “What?”

      “I am of the opinion now that you have someone you want sex with and they’re very much like Skip.”    

      “On the issue of… not wanting sexy sex with me, then yes, he’s like Skip, but not really because… oh, forget it.”

      “Back to the top of my list!”

      “No!  I don’t want to be murdered, you bastard!  I haven’t even started my holiday!”

      “Then tell me about your like-Skip-but-not-like-Skip sex person.  I really, really like stories.  I have books of stories at home and I read at least one story every day when I’m home because I just like them so much.  Especially ones with princes and dragons and castles and trolls.  Is your story like that?”

      “Not really.  Though he is rather like a prince if you think about it the right way and… no!  Look, there’s not much to tell, to be honest.  I go for weeks and don’t see hide nor hair of him then POOF!, he shows up at a crime scene or at Sherlock’s flat and he’s giving me sultry eyes or stopping to straighten my tie or sipping tea and letting me get a peek of his tongue, and it’s totally intentional because I’m not stupid and can spot things like that… then nothing.  Actually, it’s always nothing.  Just teases me and he’s absolutely a genius, so he knows just what he’s doing to me and… nothing.”

      “That’s not very nice of him, so I am putting him on my list right this very minute.  Greg’s Skip… see?  Up there at the top.  Are you sure you don’t have a gun?  Even a small one would be good because it can still murder people and I can hide it more easily, too.”

      “No, still can’t get you a weapon and you couldn’t get close enough to him to use it anyway.  Believe me, this is one man you’d have to really work to murder and since you’ve got a job, I don’t think you could find the time.”

      “Oh, I hadn’t thought about that.  And I don’t think Mum would give me time off to murder someone.”

      “Probably not.”

      “So… have you said anything to him?”

      “Like what?”

      “Like you want have sex with him!  Maybe you should mention the props, because that might be something he’d like and then he’d say yes.”

      “Nah… he’s not the type of person you just ask to sex you up.”

      “Why not?”

      “Too posh.  I’d probably have to get someone to write me a few paragraphs with big words and classical references just to say ‘hey, let’s shag.’  Government man, too, so it’d have to go through a hundred hands before it got to him and wouldn’t I look the right idiot with my Shakespearean please  fuck me request to someone who could buy, sell or call an airstrike on London before his first coffee in the morning.“

      “Well, I think you should.  At least you should tell him that you don’t like him teasing you, which is not a nice thing to do, and maybe he won’t anymore.”

      “Nah… I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

      “Greg, if you don’t want to be the first one I murder, then you should make a phone call.”

      “One, you still don’t have a weapon.  Two, I think I still have enough coordination to use my self-defense skills.  Three, I suspect you actually have my mobile.”

      “Yes!  I wondered if you’d realize that!  But, I was hoping to keep it since mine isn’t nearly as new and fancy as yours.”

      “Give it here.”

      “Are you going to call your not-Skip?”

No.  Yes.  Why not?  He was likely to get murdered by the end of the night, anyway, so might as well get a few things off his chest.

      “Yes, I’ll call.”

      “Ok, but I’m going to listen to make sure.”

Arthur handed over Lestrade’s mobile and the DI tapped a contact button he’d only used a very few times before, and always because Sherlock had done something ridiculously stupid.  After a too-brief moment, a very familiar voice sounded on the line.

      “Detective Inspector, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

Getting two thumbs-up from Arthur, who was leaning over to hear every word, Lestrade pushed on.

      “Pleasure is about the truth of it.  Or lack thereof, really.”

      “Pardon?”

      “It’s like this… I’m tired of your tongue and tie-straightening and eye-fucking and all the other things you do to make my blood boil just because you can and know I like it you bastardy… bastard.  I’m tired of lying in bed at night after you’ve had your little fun and having to take care of matters myself because I can’t sleep if I don’t since I’m thinking about you and what it would be like if you carried through with all those hints, not that you will because it’s just too much fun to play with a common lad and why spoil that fun, right?  I’m tired of waiting and wondering and wishing and knowing all the time I’m being stupid and still can’t stop.  So, I’m putting you on alert, Mycroft Holmes, that you _are_ going to stop with all the games until such time as you’re willing to make good on them or we’re going to have a problem.”

      “Gregory… pardon me, Detective Inspector… have you been drinking?”

      “Absolutely!  But that’s not the reason I decided to give you a little of the what’s what.  It’s time and I don’t like being played with in a non-sexy way and maybe getting murdered in a few hours is part of it, if we can find Arthur a proper weapon that doesn’t cost too much, since the poor lad barely has sex prop money, let alone a few pence for trolls.  So you chew on that and don’t let me see that beautiful face again unless you plan on putting it to good use.  Ok that last bit didn’t make any sense, so bye.”

A very sloppy high-five followed Lestrade’s terminating the call, which was apparently a signal for a new round that the server quickly brought over.

      “That. Was. Brilliant!  Here, hold on.”

Arthur got up and walked around the airport lounge again, coming back with a big grin on his face and reached out to pluck Lestrade’s arm off the table.

      “Ta dah!  You deserve a little present for being so brave and, well, I do really like your watch, so I’m taking yours so I can maybe be brave someday, too, and you can have this one.  It’s a good watch and I know that because Dad has one like it and he doesn’t buy anything unless it costs lots and lots of money.  Of course, I could wait until I murdered him and take his to give you, but that might be awhile and you deserve a present now!”

      “It _is_ a good watch.  Thanks, Arthur, that was nice of you.  And I’m positively drunk enough to accept it.”

      “Hurray!”

      “And, since I’ve got my mobile back, let’s see if we can find some ways to spend the money in all those wallets of yours.”

      “Oh, can we look at sex props?”

      “Not a problem.  I already have a few sites bookmarked that show some of those in action, if I remember right.  Come over here and let’s see what we can find.”

      “I have to say, Greg, I have officially decided not to murder you and I’m glad because this is the best day ever!”

      “Thanks, Arthur… I’m having fun, too.”

__________

Arthur slapped at whatever was poking at his arm and snuggled deeper into the blankets.  Then he slapped again at whatever was shaking him and nestled closer to the warm body he was curled around.  Then he cracked an eye open because he wasn’t sure why he was curled around a warm body since, as far as he could recall, there weren’t any warm bodies to cuddle with in his life.

      “Arthur… you will tell me the meaning of this and you will do it now!”

The warm body stretched and scratched its silver hair and pieces of Arthur’s memory began to form an actual picture.

      “Oh, hi, Greg.  Good morning, actually.”

      “Arthur… _Arthur_?  Yeah, good morning.  I think.  My head has a different opinion, though.”

      “Arthur Shappey, what in the world is going on?”

      “Wait… Skip?  Greg, is that Skip?  I’m not sure because my eyes aren’t working very well right now.”

      “What?  Oh yeah, I recognize him.  Looks a little different without the hat, but it’s definitely him.”

      “You… you, shut it.  And take your hands, and anything else, off of Arthur!”

Lestrade took mental inventory for a moment and breathed a sigh of relief.  He’d woken up an uncomfortable number of times before in bed with someone he had no memory of actually getting _into_ bed with, but this time he had his clothes on, including some pieces he probably shouldn’t admit to now owning.

      “When’d I get a new coat?  And nice ring, Arthur… diamond, it looks like.  Whoops!  Seems I have one, too.”

      “Am I wearing a necklace, Greg?”

      “Yep.  Some woman is probably wondering where her nice little emerald went, but that’s what insurance is for, I suppose.”

      “ARTHUR SHAPPEY!  You will tell me… why are you in bed with a passenger?  Especially _that_ passenger!”

      “What?  Why?  What’s wrong with Greg?  And please don’t yell, Skip.  My head really _hurts_.”

      “Oh, it’s Greg… is it?  Not Mr. Lestrade, but _Greg_.  I guess that’s the way it should be when you’ve spent the night with someone doing…  I am not pleased with this, Arthur.  Not pleased at all.  Having your head turned by a mature man with, ok, his hair is nice and… well, he does have a lovely smile, but… I am NOT pleased.”

And Lestrade’s smile grew and grew the more he realized just how jealous Martin was.  Apparently, what he remembered about Arthur’s ‘Skip’ situation might not be exactly as bad as Arthur thought.

      “Why not?  Skip, I don’t understand…”

Lestrade rolled over and pressed his lips to Arthur’s ear, catching Martin’s shocked and angry face out of the corner of his eye.  With a very hushed voice he whispered ‘he’s jealous, now’s your chance’ in Arthur’s ear, before rolling onto his back and grinning cheekily at Martin.

      “You… you get yourself away from him and… do whatever you need to do.  We are leaving.  Arthur… I expect you in uniform and out of that… why are you in a dress?... it doesn’t matter.  Be ready to leave in five minutes!”

Lestrade patted Arthur’s leg and gave him a look he hoped the young steward recognized, then hopped out of bed and strolled to the bathroom.

      “Arthur…”

      “Skip, come here.”

Martin’s eyes widened as Arthur threw his legs over the side of the bed and patted the mattress for the pilot to take a seat beside him.  It wasn’t what he expected to do, but apparently Martin’s legs had a mind of their own and made him take that seat next to his steward.

      “Skip, what’s wrong?”

      “Nothing.  Nothing at all.  What could be wrong about finding you in bed with a handsome man?”

      “Skip… I think Greg and I had a tiny bit to drink yesterday and we might have needed a little sleep to feel better.  Not that I feel better.  I feel rather sick, actually, but if you’re worried that Greg’s my boyfriend, you shouldn’t.  He’s very nice, but he’s not who I’d want for a boyfriend.”

      “No?”

      “No.  He’s too tall, for one.  And silver is a pretty hair color, but I like ginger better.  And he knows everything about crime and murder, but nothing about airplanes, and I like airplanes a lot.  I’d want someone for my boyfriend that I could talk with about airplanes.  And was little and cute.  And had gingery hair.”

      “Really?”

Arthur nodded and realized that he had a wig on, too.

      “So, if someone was short and ginger and liked airplanes, you might want to come out with them for dinner or a film one night?”

      “That would be brilliant!  I’d like that very much.”

      “Oh.  Ok… then maybe I have something to ask you when we get home.”

      “I’ll make sure to listen and pay a lot of attention, which I don’t always do, so you know how serious I am about this.”

      “Good.  Yes… good.  Now, oh, _you’re_ back.”

Martin glared at Lestrade who had exited the bathroom and would not admit to moving a little closer to Arthur as the DI strode forward to pick up the bottle of peach schnapps they’d apparently gotten at some point in the night.  That might explain why his breath was especially fruity this morning.

      “And ready to move along to my holiday, thank you very much.  I assume the plane is fixed.”

      “Oh, it’s fixed, alright.  Fixed and given a safety inspection that I don’t think they give to nuclear power plants.  We’re not going on to the Caribbean, though, we’re going back to London.  Apparently, GERTI’s been put on some international watch list and we’ve been ordered back for some ‘national security’ reason.”

Lestrade knew he wasn’t processing the world very well right now, what with the herd of elephants tap dancing in his head, but he was sure he got that part wrong.  Then, snippets of yesterday began to weave together and a thick, cold feeling began to gel in his stomach that had nothing to do with the gallon or two of alcohol he’d consumed.

      “Greg… you’re going green.  Do I need to get a pail?”

      “No… no, it’s fine.  But…”

      “You’re playing with your bravery present and … oh.  You did say he was posh.  Is he _that_ posh?”

      “Yes.  And don’t forget the government part, either.”

      “Oh.  Well…”

Arthur stole a glance at Martin and smiled a warm and very grateful smile.

      “… well, I’m going to believe it’s a good thing and we’re going to sit together the whole way back and I’m going to make sure you believe that, too.”

Not something Lestrade had any faith in, but he was happy to let the steward give it a try.

__________

True to his word, Arthur sat with his new friend, the only passenger on the flight, to keep his spirits up and, after awhile, Lestrade had to admit he didn’t feel quite so worried.  This was just Mycroft’s way of getting back at him for being a drunken arsehole and that was fine.  He deserved it for being an idiot.  First rule of a good drunk, don’t touch your phone.  It never ends well.  So, he’d probably have a memo on his desk when he got back to work saying he was reassigned to traffic division for a few weeks and be volunteered for a few of those community outreach things where he’d have to go to schools and answer questions from snotty, bratty kids because Mycroft  thought it would be funny to make him suffer for being a dolt.  It would be miserable, but he could handle it and he doubted that the older Holmes was petty enough to do anything _truly_ vindictive.  No matter what, he was good at his job and, besides, who would keep Sherlock occupied if he was writing parking citations the rest of his life?

When they landed, it took a good twenty minutes for Lestrade to say goodbye to Arthur and, only after he exchanged mobile numbers and email addresses with the steward, was he allowed to disembark where, somewhat surprisingly, a black sedan was waiting.  After a look back at Arthur, with Martin standing just behind him to glare a final warning at Arthur’s bedmate, Lestrade walked towards the vehicle and wondered why Mycroft had sent a car to take him home.  The driver got out, seeing him approach and took his bag, before opening the rear door for Lestrade to enter.

      “Ah, Gregory… how pleased I am to see you.”

Oh no.  This was worse than he imagined.  Mycroft was there to swing the executioner’s axe personally.

      “Mycroft?  I mean… Mr. Holmes?”

      “Now, now, let us not stand on formality.”

      “Ok… should I ask why you’re here?”

      “Well, I believe it was you that said I was not to show my beautiful face unless I planned on, shall we say, making use of the opportunity.”

      “I… oh.”

 _Oh_.

      “Yes.  And how fortunate you are already packed for a trip.  My country estate is quite lovely this time of year and I am most certain we shall enjoy our time there.”

      “ _Our_ time.”

      “You are due a holiday, are you not?  I have not brought a companion to the property before and I am very anxious to show off its amenities.  Beautiful grounds, a well-provided library, agreeably-stocked larders, large and comfortable beds…”

That sounded… no, he must have misheard.

      “Beds?”

Mycroft leaned forward and hesitated a moment before laying a hand on Lestrade’s knee.

      “You took a bold step, Gregory.  One _I_ had not the courage to take.  However, I shall not make that mistake again.  Oh my, that is a _very_ nice watch.  Is it new?”

      “Well… yes.  In a sense.  There’s actually a story behind it if you’d like to hear it.”

      “I would.  And Gregory… thank you for this chance.  I shall not let it go to waste.”

Neither would Lestrade.  And the first chance he got, he’d send a little thank-you note to Arthur.  Along with a boxful of stuffed bears and little plastic dinosaurs.  Might as well make sure Arthur’s trolls had some friends, because Arthur just might not have as much time for them from now on… 


End file.
